Arts Plus. Rock.

The Devil Made Them Do It

White Zombie Turns Up Heat At Aragon

May 22, 1995|By Dean Golemis, Tribune Staff Writer.

"Devil music," as presented by many metal bands, has sunk into the pits of hackneyed symbolism and overworn morbidity, leaving one jaded by its usual gloom-and-doom drivel. And though similar themes are found in the music of White Zombie, this bizarre band treats them with poetic thrusts of funky thrash and parodic humor that titillates the senses and captures the imagination.

More important, the musicianship the quartet showed Friday at the Aragon was more accomplished and original than that of the kitschy purveyors of apocalyptic humdrum.

Looking as freaky as the ghoulish cartoon characters populating the band's album art, singer-lyricist Rob Zombie and his three cronies hit a stage flecked with red Christmas lights and decked with the motif of a ramshackle haunted house.

Chanting "devil man, devil man" (from the song "Super-Charger Heaven") and other streams of consciousness with motor-mouth finesse, the dreadlocked Zombie hopped around the stage like a shaman entranced by the music's mesmerizing beat. His vocals grooved alongside the double-barreled assault of bassist Sean Yseult and new drummer John Tempesta-the backbone behind the band's industrial-strength rhythms.

Tightly meshed within, guitarist J (Jay Yuenger) deftly shifted between low-tuned power chords and rippling licks in songs like "Soul-Crusher" and "Super-Charger Heaven," while his screeching slide-guitar toned the swaying beat of "More Human Than Human."

For each song, the band added the same voice samples and sound effects interspersed within their albums, including their latest and best, "Astro-Creep: 200-Songs of Love, Destruction, and other Delusions of the Electric Head." And throughout, an overhead video screen flashed clips of old horror movies that have influenced Zombie's zany lyrics and the band's creepy image-an image that shouldn't be taken seriously.

The sizzling guitar of the Reverend Horton Heat preceded White Zombie with a spastic set of toe-tapping, knee-slapping rockabilly-or "psychobilly," as Reverend would have it-bolstered by a hard-rock overdrive that appealed to the Aragon's metal-head majority. Heat (alias James Heath) has proven himself a master of expressive guitar phrasing, smoothly shifting from twangy stuttering to spitfire riffing that slices cleanly through the solid pulse of Jimbo Wallace's manic plucking on the standup bass. As indulgent as his playing, Heat's folky lyrics drolly celebrate the pleasures of free-flowing liquor, willing vixens and other naughty escapades.

"We're having some problems up here," Heat said at one point, without being specific. "Nothing that a shot of Jagermeister won't cure." He downed a mouthful of this potent liqueur and then fired away with the searing instrumental "Blue Sky" followed by "Baddest of the Bad," the opening songs from the current album. The Texas trio prevailed over the Aragon's faulty acoustics and did well with "Five-O Ford," "I Can't Surf" and "Marijuana," which showed Heat's guitar at its smoking best.

Although the trio slackened into yawning monotony in their slower songs, like "Skweetis," they displayed some impressive jamming in "Revolve" and humor in "Roadbull," a song ending with a whistling melody that segued into the peppy jingle of the "Andy Griffith Show."